Something Like Regret
by IBuriedTheLede
Summary: LBD Universe. In an effort to be independent — and because Charlotte, Fitz and Gigi are all otherwise occupied — Lizzie attempts some solo sightseeing around San Francisco. She has some things to work out on her own, anyway — like how, from a completely objective, researcher's point of view, William Darcy is rather attractive.
1. The Wheels on the Bus

**Hello everyone! Have you all survived the great San Francisco tour day of 2013? That whole day was delightful, though it does render this fic completely canonballed. So let's just call it headcanon and move on, eh?**

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It took Lizzie about ten minutes to figure out the bus schedule, but once she worked out the cross streets she needed to be aware of, she headed out the door and walked briskly to her stop. Lizzie already thought of it as hers, even though she had only used it once since arriving in San Francisco earlier this month. But even so, there was a kind of familiarity to it that she didn't yet have with most of this large and crazy city.

The bus arrived right on schedule. After finding a spot to sit, Lizzie settled in, pulling out her phone to ensure she has the correct address. According to the bus schedule it takes about half an hour to get out to Golden Gate Park, and even then there was a walk from the last stop to the de Young. She has the address exactly right, of course, but it doesn't hurt to check. Her first day in the city alone, without Charlotte, had yielded not one but two trips where she got on the bus and then the BART headed in the wrong direction, which was monstrously embarrassing. Or it least, it would have been, if anyone had been there to see.

Lizzie had been both grateful and annoyed to be alone at that point; she was never the best with directions. But her proclamation in her last video about realizing that Charlotte wasn't there to watch her back was truer than maybe any of her viewers realized. It was slightly scary to be in such unfamiliar territory without anyone she knew. Not that she had dozens of friends in Fresno, as she had lately come to realize, but at least at home she had a network. Her people were there. Out here, she was all on her own, and that was both liberating and terrifying in a way that Lizzie couldn't quite explain. She didn't particularly feel like trying.

Not thinking about being alone and network-less had yielded a whole weekend of sitting on the couch of her guest home, watching the entire season of _Firefly _on Netflix. Being alone in her guest home was much, much easier than being alone outside, where there were thousands of people walking in pairs, dining with friends, grabbing drinks with dates, and generally having fun.

Well, Lizzie was 24, dammit, and just because she only knew a few people didn't mean that she couldn't very well have fun on her own. To hell with her own self-consciousness at being alone. San Francisco offered the height of culture and sophistication. Surely she could go lose herself in a bookstore for the afternoon, or see a (hopefully not too expensive) concert or play or musical, or go to a museum. She and Charlotte had hit some tourist attractions on Lizzie's move-in weekend, but today was time for Lizzie to step it up herself. Which is what led to her figuring out the bus schedule to get to the de Young, one of the finest art museums on the West Coast, if not the whole country.

Lizzie knew there was a reason for her to visit a museum that went beyond just having fun and avoiding the inevitable distraction of her laptop screen. It was time for her to think things over. And what better place for silent contemplation than an art museum, where loud conversation was considered the height of rudeness and patrons were supposed to move silently among the works? Lizzie thought privately that this was the best idea she's had in awhile. And yes, she should probably be working, should probably be writing up her notes from this past week and getting a head start on her report so there are no more epic weekends of paper-writing, but her concentration is shot and she wouldn't really be able to think about anything productive, so sitting in front of a computer — or a camera, come to think — would be useless.

Perhaps it was a little sad to be sightseeing alone, but Lizzie didn't mind. And besides, Charlotte was still at her internet-less retreat — Lizzie wondered briefly if Ricky had made everyone turn over their phones, _shudder_ — Fitz was with his boyfriend, and Gigi's phone had gone to voicemail when Lizzie called to invite her. Lizzie tried not to dwell on the fact that there was literally no one else for her to call. There were several work acquaintances that she had debated contacting, but they were really more at the 'go out to lunch on a weekday' stage, not the 'let's hang out on the weekend outside of work' stage.

Of course, there was one other person Lizzie knew in San Francisco. But calling him was too embarrassingly impossible to contemplate.

A near aneurysm set in as Lizzie's phone jangled to life in her hand and the first name she saw flash across the screen read, "Darcy." But it was Gigi, thankfully. Lizzie took a breath before picking up.

"Hey Gigi, how's it going?"

Gigi's perky voice emanated through the phone. "Hi! It's going great! How are you? Sorry I missed your call earlier! Are you having a good Saturday?"

It was remarkable how chipper Gigi could sound, even across telephone lines. Sometimes Lizzie wondered if all the enthusiasm of the Darcy family somehow slipped past the eldest sibling and settled in the younger one.

"Yeah, actually, I am," Lizzie said. "I'm on the bus headed out toward the de Young. That's why I called earlier, to see if you wanted to go with me."

"The de Young! Did you say the de Young?"

"Yes, they have this exhibit on —"

"Rudolf Nureyev, oh my gosh, it is so great. Also there's an exhibit of photographs by Danny Lyon that's supposed to be really good. I haven't gotten to that one yet. Oh my gosh Lizzie you are going to love it! The de Young is my favorite."

It's impossible not to be reminded of Lydia's irrepressible enthusiasm, and Lizzie thought with a pang that the pair of them would get along famously.

"I'm excited to get out there."

"You shouldn't have to take the bus, though," Gigi said. "We could have sent you a car."

"Oh, no, really, it's fine, I'm ok with the bus." Lizzie said all this much too quickly. To her credit, Gigi seems to pick up on her tone.

"Ok. Well just know that you can always call one if you need it."

"Thank you," Lizzie said, with real warmth.

There was a muffled sound on the other end for just a moment, and Lizzie wondered briefly if they lost connection, but Gigi's voice returned soon enough. "Lizzie, are you going with anyone?"

"Uh, nope." Lizzie hoped her awkwardness wasn't too apparent. She had already had enough awkwardness in San Francisco to last a lifetime. "It's just me."

"You shouldn't be sightseeing by yourself!" Gigi's voice rang out, but then there was a muffled sound on the other end yet again. Of course, the bus had just started up a rather punishingly steep hill — perhaps that affected cell service? "I'm sorry I can't be there with you today, Lizzie, but I'm supposed to practice for a bit longer. Maybe we can get dinner later?"

A broad smile crossed Lizzie's face. "Sure, that would be great."

"Ok, great! Well I will let you go and we can figure out dinner details later today."

"Sounds good."

"Well have fun! And be sure to visit the Danny Lyon exhibit!"

"Ok, I will. Bye, Gigi."

Lizzie settled back in her seat again, watching the buildings as the bus rumbled along its path. It was kind of Gigi to not even mention her brother, considering the fact that the last time the three of them occupied the same building, Gigi had pushed him straight into Lizzie's office and closed the door.

The ensuing moments had been some of the most awkward and embarrassing in her life, but it hadn't escaped Lizzie just how _nice _Darcy had been. He had even smiled at her and offered her a ride to dinner, which he was under no obligation to do. Of course, that could have been just mere politeness — he was, after all, the kind of person to whom manners were of utmost importance — but somehow Lizzie didn't think that it was.

She couldn't pretend that he was in Los Angeles anymore. She couldn't delude herself into thinking that maybe she could get through this whole shadowing period without seeing him. That line of thinking had been entirely foolish.

Lizzie also couldn't pretend that she hadn't been delighted by Pemberley. There was such an understated elegance to the place that she loved, and it was inspiring to see such creatively fulfilled employees. Hour after hour of editing vlog entries and doing thesis research and writing page after page had somehow sucked the creativity and passion out of Lizzie's graduate school work. But being thrown into a place where people were not just discussing the theories she regularly researched, but putting them into practice, was uplifting in a way Lizzie hadn't expected.

Everyone Lizzie had worked with so far held Darcy in high esteem, and it was clear that much of the creative fulfillment she so regularly saw stemmed from the encouragement of upper management. But beyond that, Darcy seemed to care about his employees' welfare in a way that she had hardly seen from any corporate leadership in her independent study or her general, albeit limited, knowledge of the business world.

It had never exactly occurred to Lizzie that being loved by William Darcy might possibly be, well —_ something_.

It was just that the Darcy she saw at Pemberley Digital was such a completely different person than the one with whom she had argued and sparred and disagreed and held in such contempt at home, and Lizzie couldn't reconcile the difference. Treadmill desks and napping pods and Japanese gardens aside, Darcy had still _broken up_ Bing and Jane and acted like a total pompous _prick_ toward their entire family all summer. Lizzie stood by what she had thought at the time, because it had been what she had felt, and an accurate reflection of how he had acted.

But Darcy didn't have dozens of videos where he slung insults at her left, right and center. Darcy didn't have whole vlog entries dedicated toward discussing their awkward interactions, in which he identified her by both her first and last name. Lizzie did. She had _lots_. Her embarrassment and shame about that mounted upon her every day, and the inappropriateness of her being at Pemberley Digital only made it heavier.

But perhaps the strangest thing was that no one seemed to _care_. Gigi found her videos funny. She and Darcy had managed to have an actual conversation. Sure, it had been the most awkward conversation of Lizzie's _entire _life, including The Talk with her hysterical mother discussing a married woman's duty while her father cringed in the background, but it had been an actual conversation. Normal human interaction.

And then she touched his arm.

Lizzie still wasn't quite sure what made her do that.

_Oh come on. You know. You're just not willing to admit it._

Lizzie shut her eyes, trying to silence that particular thought. Perhaps if she considered it from an outsider's point of view. A researcher's point of view. Yes, she could do that. She was, after all, mere weeks away from being named a master of mass communications. Research was in her blood.

And, from an objective, researcher's point of view, she could admit freely that William Darcy was attractive.

Mercifully, before this line of thought could continue too much further, the bus pulled up to her cross street. Lizzie yanked the yellow cord above her head and dismounted, again checking her phone to make sure she was headed in the right direction before setting off for the museum. She had always enjoyed walking, and this city provided her ample opportunity. Many of the homes along her walk were painted different pastel colors, like Easter eggs, except to the hundredth power, and Lizzie was forcefully reminded just how different a world it was up here.

The entrance to the sprawling park appeared soon enough, and Lizzie made her way to the front door of the de Young. She spotted a poster for the Rudolf Nureyev exhibit Gigi raved about, and the Danny Lyon exhibit as well.

"This World Is Not My Home: Photographs by Danny Lyon," the placard read. Lizzie contemplated it for a moment before purchasing her ticket. Her world, which she had always felt so comfortable in, was feeling less and less like her home every single day. Perhaps this Danny Lyon character could shed some light on the matter.

Lizzie consulted her museum map, then set off to the entrance to the exhibit. She smiled at the first photo — one of a man in a leather jacket riding a motorcycle yet still looking back over his shoulder — before looking over her own shoulder and stifling a gasp. Her breath caught in her chest. Because not ten feet away from her stood William freaking Darcy.

_What the f—_

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**Don't worry; there will definitely be a chapter 2. I just have to finish writing it. Many thanks for reading!**


	2. A Different World

**Thank you all so much for the wonderful response to this story!**

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Lizzie was frozen. Instinct told her to run, to flee, to turn her back and walk straight out of the doors she just entered. But something about the altogether new sensation of utter shock and surprise mixed with a genuine curiosity as to why Darcy of all people was currently standing mere yards away kept her feet flat on the museum floor.

Of all the places she could have possibly run into William Darcy — one of the Pemberley Digital break rooms, or nap pods, or out in the Japanese Garden (because _of course _there were freaking nap pods and Japanese Garden at William Darcy's company) — an art museum was the last on the list. Lizzie had spent so much time contemplating how to get out of awkward scenarios at work that she had never even considered the possibility of seeing him out and about in the city.

Darcy's eyebrows shot up upon seeing her, rising above the thick rim of his insufferable hipster glasses. But then his face relaxed. Lizzie almost wanted to turn around to see if he was looking at someone else, but she knew he wasn't. Once again, she was baffled. That he should accept her willingly at Pemberley Digital was a miracle in and of itself; that he should be kind enough to forgive her for her petulant, bitter rants hurled against him in video after video was just inexplicable.

Even more incomprehensible was her sense that she no longer hated him. No, those feelings had passed long ago. Lizzie felt wretched, confused and strangely hopeful all at once. The turmoil was not entirely unpleasant.

Darcy made his way over much more quickly than she expected. "Hello, Lizzie."

She nodded back jerkily. "Hi."

"How are you doing today?" he asked in a rather stilted way.

"Great," she replied, hoping the strain wasn't too evident in her voice.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad." And he smiled at her.

Lizzie wasn't sure she had ever seen Darcy smile like that. A low swooping sensation made its way quickly through her stomach, and her breath caught in her chest. Tentatively, she smiled back. His intense gaze was having an interesting effect on her, only this time she didn't feel like such a traffic accident.

When did he start to unsettle her so? At Netherfield, when he stared, it was easy to brush it off as the vantage of a man who looked only to criticize. And perhaps it had been, to some extent. Hadn't he confessed to her that he had spent months fighting his feelings? That two parts of him at been at war? That she was in a completely different world and thus completely unsuitable?

Lizzie had thought that her resounding rejection would have put him off altogether. But every interaction she'd had with Darcy since that fateful day had only increased her suspicion that he may not have been entirely over his feelings. And _that _was the most wholly confusing aspect of it all. Because it was impossible, utterly impossible, that Darcy should still have feelings for her. Not after watching all the videos. A large part of why she had consented to come to San Francisco in the first place was, after several long discussions with Charlotte, arriving at the conclusion that it was unlikely Darcy should still care for her.

Maintaining eye contact with the man in question was a little too much to handle. Lizzie looked down, examining her scuffed sneakers and his polished loafers. A sudden thought sprung to her mind.

"Did Gigi tell you I'd be here?" she asked, raising her eyes back up to his and shooting him a suspicious look.

The color that rose in his cheeks would have been enough to give him away, but to his credit, he nodded. "She might have mentioned it."

"I knew cell service couldn't be so badly affected by hills." Lizzie was trying not to sound too stupid or caught off guard, and once again she ignored the consistent fluttering feeling that had apparently decided to take up permanent residence in her stomach.

"What do you mean?" he asked, with what seemed like genuine curiosity.

Lizzie blushed. "Nothing. Just forget it. Look, Darcy —"

"Lizzie, would you like to walk through the exhibit with me?"

The swooping stilled momentarily before morphing into an alarming kind of bouncing. Lizzie hoped her shock wasn't too noticeable on her face.

"Uh, sure," she said. "Sure, that would be great."

"Good." He stepped back, holding out his hand to indicate that she continue on into the gallery. Lizzie pulled her purse closer to her side, holding onto both straps for dear life. She wondered if it would be too noticeable for her to pull out her phone and text Charlotte or Jane. (Not that texting would work, at any rate, the way her phone had been acting lately.)

They stopped to consider a photograph, and Lizzie's mind raced. Was this a date? This looked a hell of a lot like a date. But no, she determined rapidly, it absolutely was _not_ a date. It was just two acquaintances meeting in a public place and carrying on in the same direction together. Perfectly acceptable, normal behavior.

"Have you been enjoying the city?" Darcy asked, turning to look at Lizzie rather than the photograph, and Lizzie had to crane her neck up to look him properly in the eye. It was perfectly acceptable and normal for her to realize just how _tall _he was, right? How had she never properly noticed that before? Not to mention the fact that it was also perfectly acceptable and normal for her to notice that he was wearing a collared shirt, on a _Saturday_, no less. But, Lizzie begrudgingly admitted to herself, at least there wasn't a tie with it.

Darcy stood still, eyeing at her with an expectant look on his face, and Lizzie remembered he had asked her a question.

"It's different than I expected," she said, taking a step toward the next photograph. "This is the first time I've been out on my own. With the English company, I lived at home, and with Collins and Collins I crashed at Charlotte's, so being alone in a new city is just… different."

She was surprised at herself for giving this unexpectedly honest answer to what had been a fairly standard question.

It took her a beat to remember that perhaps memories of their shared time at Collins and Collins might not have been entirely pleasant for him to remember. But if he was uncomfortable, Darcy didn't let on.

"I know what you mean. Coming to a new city alone can be exciting and scary all at once. Especially one as large as San Francisco. It can be… overwhelming."

Taken aback, Lizzie looked up at Darcy again. He was smiling at her with contentment and ease and perfect friendliness and all of a sudden Lizzie wasn't sure what to do with her hands. He surely couldn't have looked at her like this while they were both at Collins and Collins and Netherfield. She would have remembered.

Or maybe she just hadn't been paying enough attention.

"Overwhelming is exactly right. I'm excited to see all the city has to offer, but it's hard to know where to begin." She glanced back up again, trying and failing to keep a blush from rising in her cheeks.

Lizzie didn't particularly care to contemplate why having a perfectly normal, acceptable, adult conversation with William Darcy kept making her blush.

"Well, the de Young is an excellent place to start," he said, moving to the next photo.

They continued on for a while in amiable silence, and Lizzie's thoughts raced. After several quiet minutes, she turned to him again and blurted out a question that had been on her mind for quite a while.

"How long have you been CEO?" she asked. She wasn't sure exactly how old he was, but it was obvious that he was still very young to be such a high-level executive.

The question was for research, she told herself. This was important information to learn. For the independent study, and all. She ignored the part of her that was genuinely curious to know more about his life. There were a number of questions she wanted to ask him, in fact, which was strange. She wasn't used to feeling curious about Darcy's life, but her curiosity had been growing ever since she had read his letter and had only compounded on itself when she arrived at Pemberley Digital.

And anyway, that question was much easier than the one he had basically told her to ask him, back in her temporary office while they were doing costume theater as themselves. Lizzie knew that if she wasn't ready to ask that question, then she sure as hell wasn't ready to hear the answer.

Darcy cleared his throat unnecessarily and tucked his chin back. "Five years," he said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Five!" Lizzie exclaimed. "What, were you some childhood prodigy who graduated from college at 17, or —?"

"No, I was no prodigy," Darcy said, tucking his chin even further back. "I was 22 when I graduated college.

_Oh, nice, a company for a college graduation present_, Lizzie thought meanly. But she caught herself before she said it aloud. That was progress, right?

"But I thought you had an MBA?" Her curiosity rose with each passing moment. "How could you have gone to business school if you took over the company straightaway?"

He shifted again, fidgeting with his glasses for a moment before shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

"I went to business school part-time at night. It was the only way I could get my degree and still manage my duties with Gigi and Pemberley. I actually just finished about a year and a half ago."

Lizzie was struck. "That is majorly impressive," she said aloud, without really meaning to, and his cheeks flushed red. "Seriously," she added quickly, wanting this to appear like the professional admiration that she meant it to be, rather than the personal admiration that it could sound like. Because that's what this was. Strictly professional. Perfectly acceptable and normal.

"I know how hard I've worked for my degree, and I go to school full time," Lizzie said. "I can't imagine having to work full time on top of that."

"It's been a bit of a balancing act," he said delicately, his cheeks still tinged with red.

At 24, Lizzie had already spent most of her life feeling like she had done nothing worthy of accomplishment, and here he was being named CEO of a successful new media company at age 22. They truly were from different worlds.

_You're in a different world from me._

Shaking her head, Lizzie looked ahead to the next print. "Still, 22 is incredibly young to be named CEO. That's really impressive."

Darcy looked down, examining his shoes, and Lizzie sensed his discomfort. The look on his face resembled his expression at the Gibson wedding, and the many times after. When he spoke again, she could barely hear him.

"I, uh — I didn't have much choice. My parents left me the company."

He looked back at her, and there was a sadness in his eyes that made Lizzie's breath catch in her throat. His parents left him the company. Which meant that his parents were no longer there to run the company. And the meaning behind everything Lizzie researched about Pemberley Digital and her tour of the William and Anne Darcy Memorial Gallery came crashing down around her, and suddenly it was much clearer why Darcy held art in such high esteem and why he was so protective of his little sister. Lizzie felt beyond obtuse. She should have figured it out; she should have put two and two together.

The thought of her own parents jumped immediately to the forefront of her mind, and despite how much she mocked her rather ridiculous mother and how she gently teased her father, Lizzie loved them both more than she could say, and the thought of losing them brought tears to her eyes. But she didn't know how to go about discussing that, and at any rate Darcy didn't look like he'd be willing to answer. So she simply said, "I had no idea. I'm so, so sorry."

His gaze took in the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and the look on his face softened just slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly.

They looked at each other for another long moment before another museum patron walked by and broke their reverie. Darcy cleared his throat again, and Lizzie nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. She decided she could forgo any more personal questions for the time being.

Together they walked through the gallery. It was strange, this tentative friendship between them. But was "friendship" even the right word? What other word could she possibly use to describe their non-relationship? She couldn't say "situation" or "association." Perhaps she could go all 19th century and refer to him as a "connection," but then again Darcy probably did refer to business connections as such. And try as Lizzie might to deny the facts at hand, that brief conversation — all of their conversations, in fact — had hardly been business related. Darcy, a man who by nature was very private and reticent, who disliked sharing personal information, had once again stood in front of her and revealed painful truths about himself. What did it all mean? All of this was wholly confusing and new and terrifying in a way Lizzie didn't particularly want to analyze. So she concentrated on the photographs instead.

They walked silently, side by side, and Lizzie was glad to have something to focus on. Once they reached the front lobby, Darcy turned to her and held out his hand.

"If you have your coat check ticket, I'll fetch it for you," he said, his hand waiting expectantly.

An unexpected giggle burst from Lizzie, and Darcy slowly drew his hand back, looking confused.

"Sorry!" Lizzie said, still laughing a bit. "It's just, that word. Fetch. There's this line from this movie. You ever heard of _Mean Girls_?"

Darcy's face relaxed. "Ah, yes," he said. "I believe the phrase was, 'Gretchen, stop trying to make _fetch_ happen.'"

Lizzie felt her jaw drop. It was probably terrifically unattractive. She didn't particularly care about that at the moment, however, because William Darcy had just quoted _Mean Girls_.

"What?" Darcy said, a bit defensively. "I have a younger sister. She adores Rachel McAdams. And I think Tina Fey is brilliant, so, yes, I know _Mean Girls_. And if you hand me your ticket, I'll _fetch_ your coat."

Lizzie fished the ticket out of the pocket of her jeans and dropped it in his waiting hand. As Darcy walked away, she pulled out her phone. No missed calls or texts. That could mean either one of two things — that no one had tried to contact her in the time since she had last checked her phone, which was entirely possible, or that her phone had been acting up again and not receiving any messages, which was also highly probable. Lizzie chewed her bottom lip. She had her thumbs on the button to text Charlotte, but as she stood there, no words would come. She couldn't quite think of what to say. Instead, she locked her phone and slid it back in her pocket as Darcy approached with her jacket slung over his arm.

They walked outside together into a wall of fog. Lizzie shrugged into her jacket, trying to stop herself from shivering. She had been thinking of walking over to the conservatory of flowers, but it was pretty darn cold.

"They never tell you about the fog in this city," she said, buttoning up her jacket and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

"Yes, it can be pretty brutal," Darcy said. "It's colder than you'd think a lot of the time. Sometimes…" he paused, took a breath, and looked at her in that quirked-eyebrow kind of way that somehow managed to be both pleasant and deeply unsettling. "Sometimes San Franciscans even have to wear scarves in the middle of summer."

Yep, deeply unsettling. Deeply, deeply unsettling. Lizzie ducked her head, turning what she knew was a rather violent shade of red, and bit her lip. But she summoned her courage and looked back up at him again, and what she found wasn't anger, but amusement.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't want to catch cold," she said, somewhat lamely, but it was the best she could do at the moment.

"Who knows what catching a cold would do to my programming," he said. Two jokes in a row, and Lizzie didn't know what to do with herself. But he smiled at her again, and Lizzie shot him a small smile, too.

"How did you get here?" he asked. "I trust you didn't bring a car to San Francisco?"

"I took the bus, then walked over from the last stop." She stuck her hands in her pockets to stay warm.

"May I offer you a ride home?"

Lizzie readjusted the strap on her shoulder. Darcy's question lingered in the air. It really was pretty cold, she reasoned, and the 10-minute walk to the 30-minute bus ride home was looking more unappealing by the second. Besides, she could hardly refuse a ride for the second time; that would be ungenerous.

"Ok," she said simply. Once again, Darcy held his hand out to show her the way to go. It was a short walk to his car, which of course was of the German luxury variety, but Lizzie managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. That resolve was doubly tested as Darcy held the door open for her, but luckily Lizzie's resolve prevailed.

Darcy slid in on the driver's side, starting the engine and fiddling with the controls. "Are you warm enough?" he asked, looking at her with something that closely resembled concern, and Lizzie felt the swoop in her stomach again.

"Yep," she said. "I'm good."

"Do you mind putting your address into the GPS? That way I'll know where to drop you off."

"Of course," she said, looking for the device in the glove compartment, but Darcy cleared his throat and pointed to the dash. Lizzie's cheeks burned. Of course his luxury German car would have GPS installed in the dashboard. Her own car at home had rear windows that refused to roll down and manual locks. She tapped the address in and felt proud that she didn't have to reference her phone to make sure all the numbers were right. The route showed up bright and clear, and Darcy shifted the car into reverse.

Lizzie took a deep breath, then another, and tried to relax. With Darcy concentrating on the road and not on her, she found it a bit easier to breathe. It was startling to realize how much more clearly she could think when he wasn't _looking _at her in that way that he did.

And the one thought that came to her newly cleared mind was just how _nice _this was. That Darcy himself was… _nice_.

The thought of a nice Darcy tensed her shoulders right back up again.

A line of cars ahead at a stop light brought them to a halt. Darcy turned to her from the driver's seat. "Speaking of overwhelming — how would you like to see Lombard Street?"

Before she could stop herself, Lizzie grinned. Not having a car in the city, and not daring to walk it, Lizzie hadn't thought that perhaps one of the more famous tourist stops in San Francisco could be on her list of destinations this winter. But he had a car, and she was in it, and damn if she didn't want to see it. _Gotta live in the here and now_, she had told herself.

"Sure," she said, smiling again. "I'd like that."

Traffic eased up, and Darcy made to switch lanes. Lizzie took the opportunity to study his profile a bit. It was remarkable how different he could look with glasses and in casual clothing. Kind of like a reverse _She's All That_, she thought with a private grin.

He glanced at her briefly, catching her smile.

"You and Gigi seem to have hit it off," he said unexpectedly, and Lizzie's private grin turns into a much larger one. "I'm glad for it. I had hoped you two would get along."

"She's great," Lizzie said. "She really is. I'm glad to have gotten to know her."

"She thinks the world of you already," he said, and Lizzie was glad he was looking at the road. "Then again, there aren't many who don't."

_I could name a few_, Lizzie wanted to say, but didn't. That was dangerous ground and she didn't really feel like treading on it. Luckily, she could look ahead to the hill they'd be heading up soon.

"Is this it?" she asked excitedly. She could hardly keep from bouncing in her seat.

"We're almost there. You'll know it when you see it," he said.

Impatiently, Lizzie looked to the dash. She pressed the button for the radio and was not at all shocked to hear the twinkling of classical piano coming from the speakers.

Darcy's hand went to the dash. "We can change it if you want — "

"No, don't. I like it." Unthinkingly, Lizzie reached her hand up to still his, but she stopped just before reaching his fingers. His hand stayed frozen in midair as she drew hers back, once again pushing her hair behind her ear in an effort to find something for her fingers to do. Darcy settled for fiddling with the volume dial as the car crested the top of the hill.

"Here we are," he said, and any awkwardness was quickly forgotten as Lizzie stared out of the window in wonder. This was truly the strangest, crookedest street she had ever seen.

"This is unbelievable," she said, craning her neck to see further in front. "Why did they build it like this?"

"The hill was too steep otherwise," he said, pulling the steering wheel far over to accommodate one of the hairpin turns. "They couldn't have had any development, and it would have been far too much for pedestrians. So they put in the switchbacks." He paused, then said, "Remember, the hills in this city can be quite unforgiving."

Lizzie looked out at the broad expanse of the city stretched before her. "Yes, I remember," she said quietly.

Darcy navigated the car down the rest of the hairpin turns, classical music playing away, and Lizzie felt at peace for the first time since arriving in this vast, overwhelming, marvelous city. That sense of contentment stuck with her when they reached the bottom of the hill and as they rode in a pleasant silence back to her apartment.

But as the car drew closer and closer to her address, Lizzie couldn't quite shake the feeling that she and Darcy had just gone out on a date.

_I just went out on a date with William Darcy_.

But they hadn't planned it! They had just run into each other… and proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon together. And then had gone on to another activity. A wonderful, delightful activity that she had wanted to do since arriving at the city but had thought was totally impossible.

Just as impossible as the completely improbable notion that Darcy could still harbor feelings for her.

Mercifully, there was a spot open in front of her apartment, and Darcy pulled in and shut the car off. Lizzie was in the middle of unbuckling her seatbelt and saying "Thank you" before she realized he was already out of his seat and walking over to her side of the car.

The last time someone had actually opened her car door for her, it had been her high school boyfriend and it had most definitely been presented as a joke. William Darcy, however, was not joking. He really was from a different world — a world where people said _fetch_ unironically and opened car doors and spent Saturday afternoons driving German luxury cars down the crookedest street in America. Lizzie gathered her bag and stepped outside of the car, walking up to the front door. She glanced at Darcy nervously. He was also looking incredibly nervous and suddenly Lizzie wondered if a kiss was coming and _oh my god, what if he tries to kiss me._

Lizzie tried with all her might to be horrified. She really did. But all she could conjure up was the strangest, oddest, most inexplicable happiness.

Escape was impossible. Lizzie could hardly whip out her phone and call Charlotte. She studied the front stoop, until she realized that looking down was stupid. She didn't want to be looking down. She wanted to be looking at William Darcy. And that was the scariest part of all.

Gradually, she brought her gaze up from the ground to her hands, and then higher, until she discovered that Darcy's eyes were already on hers, very soft and full of care and something else warmer Lizzie couldn't quite name. It was alarming and confusing and reassuring and terrifying — all at once.

"Thank you for the ride. And for taking me down Lombard Street." Lizzie attempted to smile. "I had… a lovely day."

"Thank you, as well," he said, somewhat stiffly. "I had a… lovely time, too."

They stood silently for a moment, before Lizzie broke eye contact and reached down into her bag, digging for the keys to her apartment.

"I should go," she said, not looking at him. She found the keys, pushing the correct one into the lock before opening the door slightly. "Thank you again."

"Of course," he replied. "If you'd ever like to meander around the city again…"

"Thank you," she said, once more, only this time she reached out and grabbed his hand instead of his arm. He stilled for a moment, and Lizzie could hear his shaky inward breath. Then his grip tightened just slightly on her hand as he raised it to his lips. Darcy lingered for just a moment, before dropping her hand and walking quickly back to the car. He paused as he reached the driver's side again, lifting his hand in farewell before disappearing from view and driving away.

Lizzie stared. Once again, the last time someone had kissed her hand, it had been a complete and utter joke. Yet here Darcy was, kissing her hand like they were characters straight out of a classic novel. It was completely old fashioned and slightly ridiculous and very much like him.

It was also a baby step, which Lizzie was grateful for. Since their entire non-relationship had started with him saying, "I'm in love with you," baby steps were a good thing.

First, she grabbed his arm. Then, he kissed her hand. Now the ball was definitively in her court. Lizzie wondered what her next move should be.

_A kiss on the cheek, obviously_.

Lizzie smiled. The plan was set. Now she just had to figure out when to do it.

* * *

**Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think in the reviews.**


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